


to sing for the rain

by undercelestialstars



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Ishbalan | Ishvalan, Gen, a little..., ishvalan oc's are pretty minor, liberties taken with ishvalan culture, no romo! none planned yet, started on google docs now we're here, the story is picking up!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2019-05-08 08:25:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 13,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14690244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/undercelestialstars/pseuds/undercelestialstars
Summary: Edward and Alphonse are beings made under the sun and meant for the sand- of an Ishvalan mother, to worship Ishvala. It's never so easy.Not when Alphonse bears his mother's eyes, and then he doesn't.Not when Edward has nothing left to give but his name.(Brotherhood, retold.)





	1. to go peacefully (back to the sands)

**Author's Note:**

> aaa it's about time! i'll be combining the particularly short sections if i can, but updates will remain around 300-500 words until the story picks up (and it's picking up!)

“Trisha Elric” doesn't get a traditional Ishvalan burial when she passes.

Edward and Alphonse do their best, they really do. Before she dies, they recite the chapter of the Holy Book to her, a prayer that her soul returns peacefully to the desert sands and Ishvala’s arms. They manage to transmute some plants into the traditional herbs to place around her room, desert ferns waving in the open window. Every night, they sing her to sleep with the song for rain, a plea for her to have the strength to open her eyes the next morning. 

But she dies, and the Elric house is filled with grief. Pinako helps them through the Amestrian funeral, clutches Edward’s hand in hers as the coffin is lowered to the ground. Ishvalan’s cremate their dead, he tells her, and spread their ashes across the sand to be closer with their god, and they can do neither for their mother. 

They draw the curtains of their house, close the door to her and Winry, and remain in silence for three days. When the door creaks open on the fourth day, the two boys hold a woven basket filled with their mothers belongings- her favourite lavender dress, her sash that marked her as a devotee of Ishvala, the wooden bird Edward had first alchemized for her- and they burn them with the plants that had been placed around her room.

“If we ever go back to Ishval,” Al says in his sweet, childish voice as flames crackle, “we’ll scatter these for her.” Ed nods stiffly from his place, crouched just out of the reach of the flickering heat. 

She rests her hands on theirs and watches her dear friend, Asilah “Trisha Elric” Hākim go up in smoke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter tallies up to 291 words! leave a comment if you enjoyed it.


	2. inheritance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward takes after his father, though not always in personality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> enjoy!

Edward Elric takes after his father.

He'll pout and scowl and yell but at the end of the day, his Xerxian eyes reflect the setting sun and his hair looks like molten gold in the glow. Al takes after their mother, his hair a more dominant silver than Edward's and his eyes a ruby red. Of the two, Al faces more discrimination with his obvious Ishvalan features, while Ed can pass off his tinted hair as gold in most shades of light.

The first time the crueler kids yell slurs at Al, they're six, Al having celebrated his birthday just a month or so before. Ed's eyes go narrow and he decides fistfights all of them. When they stumble home, Ed has a swelling eye and more than a few scrapes but he's got a fierce expression around a cut lip because now everyone at the school knows he's Ishvalan too, and he keeps his head up. Trisha sighs and cleans him up, bandages his cut knees as Al worries beside her.

“You shouldn't have done that,” he tells his older brother solemnly. Ed blows his choppy bangs out of his face with an exaggerated exhale and looks up at his brother.

“Why not?” He asks cheerfully. “Now I'll be able to say my afternoon prayers in the classroom instead of hiding in the washroom!” His smile is too wide to be Hohenheim's, who was always so careful and so non-confrontational.

Trisha smiles, just a little bit sadly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is a scant 248 words! leave a comment if it so pleases you (it would please me!)


	3. messengers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alphonse may have her eyes, but he's like Hohenheim, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I combined two sections since they were both too short. enjoy!

Al takes after their father too, she thinks to herself as he smoothly draws a chalk circle on the ground. She watches with fond nostalgia as the array lights up and a stone duck emerges from the ground. Hohenheim used to make her flower crowns with Ishvalan blooms transmuted from Amestrian ones, she thinks as Ed activates another array.

When the boys first discover Hohenheim’s alchemy books, they’re reasonably outraged. Having been raised almost entirely on Ishvalan beliefs, Edward and Alphonse more or less throw a fit. But she kneels by the bookshelf, pulling out notebooks with Hohenheim’s writing in them, the familiar arrays and handwriting blurred by the tears forming in her eyes.

“Oh,” the boys say quietly, and help her reorganize the notebooks.

 

* * *

 

The first time she watches them do alchemy, she smiles and cries and hugs them close ands tries not to think too hard about Hohenheim, who thought himself a monster and yet was the farthest thing from that.

Al greets her at the door, tugging insistently at her sleeve, a little messenger- _we've got something for you in Baba's study,_ he says. She sets down her basket of vegetables and lets him direct her into Hohenheim’s study.

Ed is crouched on the floor, and in front of him is a carefully drawn array. She doesn’t recognize it, for all her careful examination of Hohenheim's work, and Ed presses his palms to the floor. From the wood rises a little sculpture- a bird, wings outstretched. It’s a little wonky, but she recognizes it- the mythical 'usturat altuyur, a messenger of their god, Ishvala.

 

She tells them that story at their bedside that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leave a comment! this chapter totals to 277 words.


	4. the birth (& the re-birth)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alphonse is brought into the world, and Edward is by his side from the very beginning.

When her second son is born, she whispers his god-given name into the top of his damp, soft head, and then raises her voice slightly.

“We will call him Alphonse,” she declares, louder. It's a Xerxian name, like Edward's, and she doesn't think too hard of what that might mean (she doesn't think too hard of the conflict brewing between Ishval and Amestris). Ed untangles his chubby hands from Hohenheim's golden hair and reaches towards her- towards the little bundle in her arms. He sets her son down beside her.

Edward prods his brother's cheek with gentle hands, running his palms along the little nose and petting his tiny ears. “Dire,” he says in his childish voice. “Baladay dire.” Shield, my shield. She tuts him quietly- he must have picked up those words from her fairy tales, despite being so young.

“Edward, you cannot give him a name.” He peers up at her with gold-plated eyes.

He babbles at her quietly, as if in askance. She strokes his hair.

“It is not my name to give to you," she tells him quietly. "If Alphonse will tell you, then you will know. Giving your name is giving up your life to someone you can trust it to- a rebirth of your _own_ making."

He stares down at the bundle in her arms, babbles some more. His hands grasp his brother's with a tenderness not unlike her own.

 

* * *

 

On a warm, spring-heady night, just a year or so later, when Ed has learned enough words for a sentence, she hears the rustling of cloth.

Edward sits next to the crib, where his baby brother sleeps.

“You cannot give me your name, so I will give you mine,” he says seriously, words unfitted to his tiny mouth. “Mama says you give your name to someone who you can promise your life to. So you can have my life. I will give you this.”

Trisha smiles and goes back to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leave a comment!! this chapter brings 327 words.


	5. fire-hearted and cold as iron

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roy Mustang- the _Flame Alchemist_ \- comes to recruit Edward.
> 
> He almost refuses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was originally way shorter so I had to write in a fair bit! enjoy!

When Colonel Roy Mustang, the Flame Alchemist, _(nar alshaytan_ was what he secretly called him, _the devil's fire,)_  comes to recruit Ed as a state alchemist, he wants to laugh, bitterness brewing in his chest. Here is a slayer of his people, asking him to bow to the same military who ordered his people to be exterminated.

He remembers the day that he’d found out the State Alchemists were going to war like it was yesterday- he, Alphonse, and Winry playing on the floor like nothing could go wrong, while Pinako read the newspaper at the table, sipping her tea.

They'd snapped to attention when the teacup dropped to the ground, spilled tea onto the floorboards while Pinako held her head in her hands, grief-stricken.

“It's over,” she'd whispered, before silently leaving, and Ed had snuck a look at the paper while they cleaned up the tea.

 _State Alchemists Will Turn The Tables On The Ishvalan Civil War_ , it'd read, and he'd felt sick to his stomach. _State Alchemists Will Ensure The Slaughter Of Hundreds Of Thousands Of Your People_ , is what it seemed to say. He'd thrown it away before Alphonse or Winry could see it, and held his hatred and sorrow close to his heart.

They'd found out, of course, but Pinako took it harder than Winry- when the Flame Alchemist comes knocking on her door, she almost knocks him flat in her rage, ready to turn him away without a second thought, ready to refuse for Ed.

But Al, his _dire,_ who he gave his life to, is a cold, tall presence by his shoulder. And he can do alchemy, of course, he is the son of a father who hurt him but was proficient in alchemy- excellent in it, even, if the notes Edward learned from were anything to show for it. He's a _sinner_ , and Ed thinks of the writhing body, _Al’s_ body unraveling before his very eyes. Like father, like son- so he asks Pinako for an arm to fight and a leg to carry him until he can find his shield’s body again, and return it to the one he wronged.

And if he gives his life in the process, well- this is what he promised his baby brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> though short, this is the longest chapter thus far, at 379 words. leave a comment!


	6. give it all

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alphonse will give anything for his brother- and not just because of the law of "equivalent exchange".

 

Ever since Al was a child, Ed has been hot-headed and brash, loudmouthed and unafraid to say what he meant. He was called _fiery_ if they were kind and a _little shit_ if they weren't. But Ed, brave and wild-eyed as he was, always cared for Al in every way he could. He loudly distracted people who picked on him, always fought racist kids who looked down on him for his hair and his eyes that were not like Edward's own.

A sword, a weapon, something to protect in any way Al could. Because of the way he looked, Al found himself more soft-spoken than any in the classroom he shared with those other children. But he knows the whispers of the other odd “Elric” child- golden boy, but _Ishvalan_ , like it's a sin.

Edward gave his name to Al, when he was an infant and Ed only barely more than that. In all old, Ishvalan stories, god-given names are whispered on dying breaths to lovers, to warriors who may never come home, to people who know only loss, from people who have nothing to give _but_ their name. Ed made a promise, bound by their earthen god, a gift to his just-born brother when he had so many other things to give.

When Al is three, he tries to give his name to Ed. An equivalent exchange, he explains, that he once heard their father speaking of. Ed claps a hand over his mouth and tells him that he owed him nothing at all, that a name is freely given and not something to trade. Al nods in understanding.

The next day, he takes Ed’s hand and presses his name to his ear. Their lives are split, now- belonging to each other and Ishvala.

Al looks at their linked hands.

“If you are my sword,” he says to their interlocked fingers, voice a grave and child-like thing, “then I will be your shield.”

Ed looks at him, and then glances back off to the horizon. “Dire, baladay dire.”  _Shield, my shield._

Al grips his hand a little tighter. “Sayf, baladay sayf.”  _Sword, my sword._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leave a comment! this chapter comes to 356 words.


	7. turn it, freeze it over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward gets caught up in Isaac the Freezer's attack on the military. He's not pleased.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the first chapter not included in my google doc! all-new content, wow!

It's a little before dinnertime when the Colonel calls the hotel Edward had been staying at. Alphonse follows Ed down to the lobby, where the receptionist raises an eyebrow at the odd pair before handing them the phone.  
  
"What do you want?" Ed asks sourly, skipping the greeting. The Colonel sighs.  
  
"Is that any way to greet your superior, Fullmetal?" he replies. Edward grits his teeth at the name.  
  
"Hurry up and out with it, you old bastard, some of us have things to do and places to be. I _did_ tell you Al and I were taking the train to Liore tonight, right? Signed out of the hotel and everything.” Alphonse raises his armour’s helmet at the mention at his name, and the receptionist narrows her eyes at the expletive. He contemplates sticking his tongue out at her.

“Cancel that, Fullmetal,” he says sharply, and Edward snaps to attention. “There’s a former State Alchemist on the loose, and he’s planning an attack on Central.” Alphonse has drifted closer, now, and sensing his brother’s displeasure, plucks the phone from his automail hand,

“Got it, Colonel,” Alphonse answers for Ed. Edward does stick out his tongue at him, this time. Alphonse hands the phone back to the receptionist, and Ed crosses his arms. “Let’s go, brother.” Edward groans, looks at the dark seeping into every street corner.

“At least let me get my coat?”

 

* * *

 

Edward clambers onto the roof of the hotel after acquiring his coat (and a little more information), keeping an eye out for any angry hotel workers below. People didn’t tend to take too kindly to a teenager with two metal limbs and a suit of armour climbing their buildings, but it’s late enough that no one would really see. He stifles a yawn.

“The Colonel is really goin’ to make us stay in Central longer, huh?” he asks. Alphonse turns to him, from where he was scanning the streets.

“Looks like it. Does this mean we’re going to have to buy new tickets?” Edward shrugs.

“They might give me a discount, since I’m military... hey, if we get this over quickly, we can still make it.” Alphonse looks back to the city.

“The Colonel didn’t tell us where to look for this guy, though,” he grumbles, “so it might take longer than we thought.” Edward bites back a second yawn, and stretches.

“Let’s get to searching, then!” he exclaims, and prepares to leap for the next roof over.

 

* * *

 

They wander the roofs, jumping from place to place and (probably illegally) alchemizing paths when they couldn’t clear a drop. In the end, it’s the sound of police whistles and panicked screaming that has them sprinting over roofs for an alleyway.

“There!” Edward points at the man standing over the policemen, the crackle of alchemy still dispersing. Despite his disdain for soldiers, he hopes that they’re still alive. Edward presses his hands together, mutters a quick prayer for forgiveness (something he does more of habit now,) and sends a polearm hurtling to his feet. The man jumps back in alarm, as Edward quickly lowers himself from the roof.

He catches a glimpse of the _definitely_ dead policemen, and wrinkles his nose. “That’s absolutely _vile_ , Isaac McDougal.” Isaac, the “Freezing Alchemist”, smirks. He’s actually pretty greasy looking, probably from being on the run, and Edward almost feels sorry for him.

Almost.

“You, an alchemist, should know that some great deeds need sacrifices. It’s the law of equivalent exchange, don’t you know?” Edward grits his teeth at the reminder of his sins, though it’s unintentional.

“Shut up, McDougal! Alchemy doesn’t justify _murder._ ” He claps, alchemy lighting up the darkness creeping closer, and grabs his polearm, transmuting it into a metal bat. He knows Alphonse is coming up behind the alchemist, so he adds a little face to the end as an afterthought. The face McDougal makes at the little ornament is hilarious, anyways. Alphonse would have laughed.

“You didn’t even use a transmutation circle!” he exclaims, eyes wide. Edward poises to pounce.

“You haven’t the time to be so surprised, old man!” he yells, and charges. At the same time, Alphonse clears the corner and takes a swipe at the man. He bends back in a way that’s alarming, and catches Ed’s bat with his metal arm bracer- it bears the array he must be using, Ed notes, before McDougal counterattacks. He shoves away the bat and rolls out of the way of Alphonse’s next swing, managing to kick him in the chestplate. He blocks Edward’s hit with the arm bracer-

His hand wraps around Edward’s automail arm, and the alley lights up with alchemy.

Edward leaps back, alarmed but not entirely shocked- _he must have activated the array when he braced both arms against my last attack,_ he thinks furiously. McDougal looks more shocked than he does.

“What?” he barks, and Alphonse attacks again. He flips the armor over his head, and Edward has to move so that he’s not knocked over by the heavy gear. “Any water in there should have boiled! That’s-”

“If you say impossible, old man, I’ll transmute you into the pavement,” Edward growls. Both layers of his shirtsleeves are in tatters- might’ve been from the transmutation, might’ve been from the spikes on his arm brace. Either way, it’s pissed him off. “You ruined my clothes, jerk.” It’s a weak insult, but moonlight catches on his gears and wires, and McDougal backs up a little.

“Automail…” he murmurs, and Edward barely resists the urge to boast about Winry, his best friend and just about the _best_ automail mechanic he’s met.

(Short of Pinako, of course.)

Instead, he’s mostly just mad- he whips off the red coat, hoping that none of the material has gotten caught in his joints. Behind him, Alphonse’s armour rises. He watches as the man puts the pieces together.

“You’re the Fullmetal Alchemist, Edward Elric!"

 

* * *

 

“So… it’s really not you?” he asks, pointing to Alphonse’s suit. Al laughs nervously.

“Ah, no, it’s not me. I’m his younger brother, but people get us mixed up a lot.” Edward grumbles, and Isaac McDougal puzzles over the situation some more.

“So this _runt_ is Fullmetal?” The crackle of a transmutation interrupts him, and Edward takes great satisfaction in watching his face get trapped between what used to be the walls on either side of the alley. Take that!

He still speaks, though. “A mere child is the infamous State Alchemist?” Edward shouts in frustration and a giant, stone hand sends the man flying. He doesn't get back up. 

“Shut it!” he yells at him, and Alphonse lays a leather glove on his arm. The shouts of policemen grow louder, and Ed smirks. Reinforcements.

“I don’t think he was talking about your height this time, _sayf_ ,” he says soothingly. Edward grumbles, but holds his tongue.

“Whatever- let’s go deal with the police. If we run, we can still make the train,” he mutters.

Al nudges his arm gently. “Go get your coat, brother, I’ll talk to the police.” Edward grins, nudges his arm back in thanks. The transmutation is quick and easy- tracking down enough scraps is what’s hardest about it. Ed grumbles at the inch or so he has to take off the hem to make up for the unsalvageable bits.

“Let’s go, Al!” he waves leisurely at the policeman taking Al’s statement. He picks up the pace when they round the corner, sticking his tongue out at the policemen escorting McDougal to their station. He’s about to turn onto the main street when a heavy thump and the tell-tale sound of an array being activated has him turning around, just to get a face-full of steam.

“Steam-” He coughs, and blinks water out of his eyes. Alphonse has one hand braced on his shoulder, like he might fall. The alleyway is damp and policemen are getting up from the ground-

“Brother, he’s escaped!”

Isaac McDougal is nowhere in sight.

 

* * *

 

“You were careless, Fullmetal,” The Colonel lectures. Edward rolls his eyes and tries his hardest to disappear into the office couch. “The Freezing Alchemist has escaped, and-”

“Yeah, alright, I get it,” he grouses. “My fault, whatever. Who is this guy, even?”

The Flame Alchemist takes this the wrong way. “It would do you some good to _listen_ to your superiors every now and then, Fullmetal. Isaac McDougal, or as he’s known to the military- Isaac the Freezer, is who you were after today.” _You don’t have to tell me his name,_ Ed thinks, _I went out of my way to find it out myself._ “He served in… in the Ishvalan War, but back then, there was no signs of him turning traitor. But afterwards, he resigned immediately and began working with anti-establishment groups. Taking him in is our top priority- dead or alive. That part’s up to him.”

Edward leans back. “I’m not killing anyone for you, and you know that,” he scowls. The Colonel shrugs.

“And _that_ part is up to you, Fullmetal.” He turns to hold Edward’s stare for a second, before breaking eye contact. “By the way, have you found any new leads into getting your bodies back?”

Edward hates that this man cares.

“We would, if you gave us enough time to look!” The door being flung open is what saves Colonel Mustang from a more scathing remark. Lieutenant Colonel Maes Hughes bursts in.

“Yo, Roy!” He exclaims boisterously, “The top dog really gave you the job of capturing the Freezer, huh? Tough order, that one!” His attention is quickly captured by the Colonel’s odd guests. “Woah, are you two… the Elric brothers?”

He steps forward before either can reply, grabbing Al’s leather glove for an enthusiastic handshake. “Wow, the Fullmetal Alchemist! It’s truly an honour to meet you, sir!”

Edward grimaces, knowing how much Alphonse hates being treated like an adult. “Don’t be mistaken, old man,” he yells. Alphonse nods.

“Ah, I’m Alphonse Elric,” he says in a soft voice. “Edward’s younger brother.” Maes Hughes turns to look at Edward.

“Wait, you mean _this one_?” he exclaims. “But he’s so-!”

“Careful, Maes,” Roy teases. “Best not to get on his bad side.” Edward glares at him, too, and he straightens himself out. “Are you here just to bother my subordinate?” he asks, though humour remains in his voice. Maes sobers quickly, too, alarming the two brothers.

“I’m actually here on official business,” he declares, and points at Ed and Al. “You two! I heard you signed out of the hotel a night too soon, so you’ll be staying at my place, at least until all of this blows over!” He reaches into his jacket pocket, pulling out… a picture.

“My wife, Gracia, and my daughter, Elicia, would love to meet you!” he grins, all wide and free.

The Colonel sighs.

 

* * *

 

Elicia is a little girl, perhaps between two and three years old. She’s first greeted by her father, who scoops her up and cuddles her without a care in the world, giggling and cooing. When he sets her down, she turns to stare at the two brothers.

She gazes up at them, awe in her eyes.

Edward and Alphonse wait with baited breath.

She points at Alphonse first. “So tall! Big brother!” She then points to Edward. “Shorty! Little brother!” Alphonse _laughs,_ the traitor.

Edward steps forwards, playing more angry than he was. “Elicia, I’m Edward, and this is my _little_ brother, Alphonse.” She shakes her head cheerfully.

“If you’re older, why are you so short?”

Alphonse laughs and picks Edward up. “Calm down, _little_ brother!” Edward flails around, before resigning himself to his fate.

Well, it _did_ make Al laugh.

 

* * *

 

Dinner is an affair more awkward than it has any right to be. Edward mumbles his prayers as quickly as possible and digs in, but Maes watches Alphonse with an eagle eye.

“You’re not hungry, Alphonse?” he finally asks. Alphonse, always softer than Ed, fumbles for an excuse. To be fair, Edward doesn’t do much better.

“It’s, the, he- it’s part of his alchemy training!” he finally settles on. Alphonse nods his head violently. “It’s a part of our Master’s teachings.”

Both of the older Hughes’ look doubtful, though thankfully, Elicia breaks the ice.

“Training, training!” she chants joyously, and no one can hold back their laughter.

(Meanwhile, Isaac McDougal has an unfruitful conversation with the Crimson Alchemist.)

 

* * *

 

Edward lays in the Hughes’ guest bed, staring at the ceiling. Al’s armor is still and unbreathing across the room.

“Hey, _sayf_ ,” he says softly, “Gracia’s quiche looked really good, huh? Just like Mom’s.” Edward laughs a little.

“Yeah, it was just as good, too!” Al makes an excited sound, and the quiet clanking of metal marks his movements. There’s a rustle of pages being turned, and then the scratch of a pencil. Edward listens to all of them carefully, because Al is _alive_ and making these noises.

“I’ll add it to the things I want to eat when I get my real body back, then!” he says, and Ed grins.

“Put it right at the top!” The room grows silent again, and Edward can’t resist the urge to look over and make sure Al is still there. His brother notices, and gets up.

“Come here,” he says fondly, and Ed rolls his eyes. Al brings the extra blanket from the other bed, and sandwiches Ed between the two before settling his bundled-up brother in his arms on the floor. “Go to sleep, _sayf_ ,” he says quietly. “I’ll be here when you wake.”

 

* * *

 

The city is in a rush when Ed wake, in Al’s arms as promised. They set out quickly, scouring the streets for Isaac McDougal, though they're mostly just in the right place, at the right time- they happen on an alleyway, where soldiers are calling for medical relief as steam curls from a policeman’s body.

“A steam explosion,” Ed muses. “When water is heated up fast enough, it expands explosively.” He sends a quick prayer to Ishvala for the man, before turning abruptly. “He’s taken enough lives- we’ll stop this quickly.”

Alphonse follows his silently.

They’re just about to turn another street when an explosion rocks the ground. They whirl around, tracking the debris quickly.

“Well, luck is on our side for once!” Ed remarks, hefting a head-shaped boulder. “To the alleyway!”

They round the corner to find Major Alex Armstrong and Isaac McDougal among the rubble, dust still drifting in the air between them. Alphonse cries out for the Major, and McDougal swings around, lightning fast, and throws something wreathed in the crackle of alchemy at them. Alphonse grabs Edward, and the hot steam curling against the armour back is unfelt.

“Water from his canteen?” Edward muses, and pats Al’s armour. “Thanks, _dire_.”

“Let’s go, Elric brothers!” Armstrong shouts, and the trio sprint after McDougal.

 

* * *

 

Nighttime falls, and they’ve well and truly lost the alchemist. Edward groans.

“Where could he have gone?” he asks. Alphonse shrugs an armor shoulder.

“I don’t know, but Central is so big, he could be anywhere!” They check another alleyway, to no avail, before Ed is struck with a thought.

“That alley, where we first saw him- what was he doing there?” Alphonse quickly puts the pieces together, and they set off for the street corner without another word.

When they finally reach the alley, there’s a military jacket-clothed back greeting them, and Edward stands with the light to his back. “There you are! That’s enough from you, Isaac McDougal! It’s over!” The man chuckles and stands up, just as Alphonse boxes him in from the other end.

“No use running away, Isaac!” he declares. The man shakes his head.

“Foolish boys,” he rasps. “I’m not running anywhere!”

The array at his feet lights up in _red._

The city crackles to life along with several more arrays in the distance. They leap and flare, and Ed can only stare in awe. _A simultaneous alchemic reaction… at this scale? That’s impossible, unless-!_

At the end of the alleyway, Alphonse reaches the same conclusion. Ed whirls to face him.

“A philosopher's stone!” The temperature drops suddenly, and his arm aches in retaliation. In the center, cold radiates from a white core, and ice creeps along the concrete like mold. “He’s freezing all the moisture in the atmosphere!”

“Edward Elric!” The man announces, and Ed snaps to attention. “Dog of the military, State Alchemist! Do you understand even a little of what this country is trying to do, even though you serve it without question? What it _has done?_ ”

 _I know enough,_ Ed wants to shout. Instead, he says, “I don’t know! You-”

“If you knew,” Isaac interrupts him, “then you’d understand why I’m doing this!”

“I don’t know!” Edward repeats. “I told you, _I don’t know!_ ”

Alphonse flies over the ice barrier that had formed between them, attacking McDougal with renewed fervor. Isaac goes tumbling past Edward, lslamming to a halt at the railing of the canal.

“Great work, Al!” Edward grins. Alphonse points.

“Brother, his alchemy-”

“Yeah!” Ed turns to the man, who looks to be catching his breath. “Hey, McDougal! You have the Philosopher’s Stone, don’t you? Hand it over!”

McDougal laughs without humour. “You’re babbling, little boy! You don’t have a clue!” Edward growls.

“If you won’t speak, then I’ll _make_ you!” He starts forwards, and the canal freezes into a huge block of ice. Alphonse pulls him back, alarmed, and Isaac McDougal escapes into the air. The tidal wave doesn’t slow, though- Ed and Al flee down the street, where Armstrong is preparing an attack. “He’s all yours!” Ed shouts, panicked, and turns to watch as he punches the ice…

It doesn’t stop moving.

The screams of civilians fill the night, as Edward starts to berate Major Armstrong. A building explodes outwards behind them, startling all of them. The walls of ice are converging on each other, merging seamlessly.

“He’s going to freeze Central!” Al shouts, horrified. Ed traces the path of the ice.

“He’s going to freeze Central Command!” Ed yells. He turns to Armstrong. “Al and I are going to stop that guy! Go take care of the transmutation circles around the city!” Armstrong salutes him, and they part ways in haste.

“Stop!” Ed shouts, boosting himself up with a quickly alchemized rise. Alphonse follows, though a bit slower. His body cracks the ice when it lands. McDougal alchemizes a wave of ice, and Edward is quick to counter it. “Don’t play at that, Isaac!” He disintegrates the ice beneath the man’s feet.

The red crackle is Ed’s only warning before hot water rains down on him, and then Isaac has one arm raised, hand poised to strike. Al grabs him, but-

McDougal’s hand grabs his helmet.

There’s a puff of steam as Al’s helmet goes flying, and Ed is seeing more red than his coat and the arrays still activated in the distance. _He could have killed, he could have killed my brother, my dire-_ they crash to the ground and McDougal draws nearer. Al’s body moves, fast as a snake, and boosts them upright, blood-drawn seal on full display.

Their attacker stops and comes to the horrifying conclusion. The arm, the body-

“You committed alchemy’s greatest taboo, didn’t you?” McDougal whispers, near reverent. “Human transmutation!”

 

* * *

 

 _Al’s body, his leg, his arm, the blood and the blood and the_ blood _and the body that didn’t belong to a human, writhing on the floor-_

“There are some lines you shouldn’t cross,” Edward hisses. “You just took another step towards hell!” He rushes at the alchemist, fist already pulled back to strike. The feeling of metal hitting flesh is nowhere as satisfying as his flesh hand meeting Isaac’s stomach would be, but the sound he makes is it’s own reward. Ed brings both hands down on his head, and he cries out when his face smacks the ice. A transmutation has Edward backing up, but Alphonse rushes in, clearing the icicles with one swing, before kicking McDougal right off of the huge mound. They slide after him, and Ed is secretly glad to have both feet on the ground again.

“Give up, McDougal!” Ed yells. The ground is dry. “There’s no water here for you.” The man’s face is battered and bleeding profusely, but he still looks  _victorious._

“You’ve forgotten, boy!” he gasps out. “What is seventy percent of the human body made of?” He flings out an arm, transmuting mid-movement, and his frozen blood pierces Edward’s flesh shoulder. Ed falls to the ground with a cry, letting Al break the spikes, and clenches his arm as McDougal stumbles to his feet. “You don’t know what this country really looks like!”

The walls of ice grow closer, and water creeps up Central Command’s brick exterior. The Freezing Alchemist laughs as he staggers away, throaty and vicious. Edwards grits his teeth as Alphonse fusses over him, watching the man’s retreating back. He rips out the frozen blood.

“We’re going after him!” he grits his teeth against the pain. “He won’t win against me- not with tricks like these!” Ed struggles to his feet, panting, but when he enters the alleyway that McDougal had run into, he realizes he’s too late. There's already policemen all over the scene- 

“F-Fuhrer King Bradley!” he stammers. The man is standing over a figure covered in a rough sheet- undoubtedly McDougal’s. The man turns to him, smiling.

“Ah, Fullmetal,” he greets. “Well, now that you’re here, I have something to brag to my son about.” He looks down at the body. “I’m glad that I was able to lend a helping hand- and to the Fullmetal Alchemist himself, no less.”

Ed sighs, and leans against Al.

 

* * *

 

 

He’s confined to the medical wing of Central Command the next day.

“But we have to get going!” he complains. “We’re already two days late to Liore- though, it’s not like anyone was waiting for us.” Al shrugs.

“Well, I’ll feel better if you rest a little. Mister McDougal got you pretty good at the end.” Edward rolls his eyes.

“That guy attacked us, and plus, he’s dead. No use in being nice about him now,” he grumbles. “But we never found out if he had the Philosopher’s Stone or not.” Al hums.

“We’ll have to wait for the military statement,” he sighs. The heavy scent of flowers brings their attention to the door, which is filled with a familiar, hulking mass.

“Edward Elric,” Alex Armstrong begins, “I heard you were hospitalized due to your grievous injuries! I had to come here right away, to wish you well!” He strips out of his jacket. “May my graceful muscles speed your journey to good health!”

 _Seriously,_ Ed thinks, mortified, _does he not wear a shirt? Ever?_ The man strikes a few ridiculous poses, and Ed lays back down in his bed. “We should have left last week!” he complains.

Al laughs, a joyous, happy thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was written because it was needed. the word count is 3818, seeing as it does encompass the entire first episode, if only from the Elric's point of view. I messed around with the dialogue, as well- I didn't want to copy and paste the transcript, after all.


	8. the specter, the spectator.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward is a ghost to Colonel Roy Mustang's past.
> 
> The man just doesn't know it yet.

The Flame and the Hawk's Eye are two devils in themselves, Edward thinks, because he can't bring himself to hate them.

Every time he sees the fire-cloth gloves on Mustang's hands, and everytime Riza’s hands twitch to land on a gun, he flinches, remembering the nights spent singing mourning songs and burning herbs to honour the fallen with their mother. She, Hohenheim, and the two brothers had managed to flee the war zone two years into the fight, leaving behind their homes, their friends, and the death on the streets.

Edward looks at him and thinks of his jida, his grandmother who used to tell him all the stories of Ishvala. He thinks of Brother Zwaahir, who taught him to wield a polearm (though he started with sticks,) and of Zwaahir’s husband, Omair, the book keeper, who died in the street in front of his home, body broken and eyes blank. He thinks of the gunshots echoing through the air as he and Al gathered their most precious belongings, desperate to leave as quickly as possible.

The Colonel looks at him and sees a child, with sun-dark skin and sun-lightened hair. Without the red eyes, Ed thinks bitterly, he must look like any child who spent much time outside.

If he had his mother's eyes, would the Flame Alchemist look at him and see a ghost?

Somehow, Ed doesn't doubt it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leave a comment! this chapter comes to 231 words.


	9. to dance for the rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Resembool so different from Ishval, but it will have to do.

In Resembool, the grass is lush and green where in Ishval it is sand-rough and brittle, the sun gentle where in her homeland it was harsh and demanding. It rains here, too, so much more often than their old desert dunes. When they first arrive to their little house, a fair distance away from the rest of the city, it is still mid-spring, a time for renewal and beginnings. The First Rain has not yet come in Ishval, and it's a lovely surprise when the day after they first step foot in their new house, the sky opens and it rains, a blessing on their home.

Trisha rushes her children outside and they sing the _'Awal Tumtir 'Aghnia_ , the traditional song of the First Rain, clasping hands to form a little circle around Hohenheim. In their city, they would run down to the main square and hold hands around musicians with their drums and tambourines, warbling old voices and childish ones rising in a symphony to thank Ishvala for the rain. They would dance in sections- children, then the elders, the mothers, and then the couples. The oldest woman living in the city, the chief known as the zaeim, would lead them in their singing.

Trisha thinks of the dancing, elders swaying and children kicking their feet, spinning and waving in the downpour. Some people donned traditional robes and dresses, with their tassels and bright colour, while some others came straight from their schools or day jobs. The dance would last late into the night, and the next day was almost always a day of rest, of preparation for the short period of bloom plants had after a heavy storm.

Ed grabs his father’s hands and spins him around, breaking the circle. Hohenheim catches on quickly and the three boys prance in the rain, whirling and laughing. She is the zaiem here, she realizes, the leader of her two young sons, directing them into a changing, difficult life. She takes a deep breath, here between the green grass and the grey skies, and prepares herself.

She misses home, but this is good enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> posted because this part had to be told. this chapter's word count is 353. leave a comment if you enjoyed it! next up is Ed and Al's trip to Liore.


	10. train down memory lane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's not much to do on the way to Liore, so the Elric brothers _remember._

The ride to Liore is about as exciting as expected. Edward watches the countryside slide by, head propped up on his hand. Next from him, Alphonse sits, seeming just as bored as Ed felt.

“Say, brother,” Alphonse breaks their companionable silence, “do you think this priest really has the Philosopher’s Stone?” Ed sighs, and scratches his head.

“I don’t know, honestly,” he admits. “Seems more likely than McDougal having it, I suppose." He leans forward and gestures dramatically, mimicking a radio host. "Priest performs _actual_ miracles, makes his way to the front page- well, we’ll give it a shot. Flowers out of nothingness?” He sits back, barks out a laugh. “If it’s not sleight of hand, well, I think our chances are pretty good. But hey, Al, remember Kaabir? The old man who led the children’s prayers?”

Al laughs. “How could I forget? His magic tricks were the best, until you found out how to do them.” Edward sobers, and nods.

“Remember how angry we were when we found out he wasn’t really magic?”

Al goes quiet. “Oh,” he says softly.

“Yeah,” Edward mutters. “If he has the Philosopher’s Stone, and we tell the town, how do you think they’ll react?”

Alphonse leans back. “We could make a deal with him,” he says, cheerfully. “It’s not like we’ll need the Philosopher’s Stone for forever. Just a little while, and then we can return it! It’ll be a win-win, right?”

He thinks about it for a moment. The substance that allowed the laws of equivalent exchange to be bypassed- he could get Alphonse’s body back within the week. His brother would be able to feel, to sleep, to eat, to do everything that the world (that _Edward_ ) had denied him for the last few years, and this priest would get the Stone back and the town would be none the wiser.

“It sure would be nice, if it was, huh?” he decides, and Alphonse nods.

The rest of the trip is spent in silence.

(And they both _remember._ )

 

* * *

 

Edward thinks of how excited he was, when he’d told Al about human transmutation. He remembered the spark of hope that had ignited in his chest when he’d first thought of it, and as they’d studied and pored over it, how it grew into a wildfire- untameable, inextinguishable, just like he’d thought he was himself. He remembers training with Izumi Curtis, _Teacher_ they’d called her, though she was just as much a mother to them as Pinako during their stay with her.

She’d hate them if she’d known what she had trained them for, but at that time, eyes burning and resolve as solid as iron, Ed hadn’t cared.

That wildfire and that resolve went out as quick as a match when Alphonse was the one who’d suffered. He’d clenched his teeth through the pain of both his arm and his leg being taken, had gone through the gate only to be spat out with just a taste of what had gone wrong and how to fix it, because that pain meant that he could  _feel._

He’d go through all of it again and again if it meant that Alphonse didn’t have to deal with his own future- unfeeling, sleepless, and devoid of warmth. So he pushes himself through his surgery and rehabilitation, looks himself in the eye in the mirror every day to remind himself that Alphonse deserves everything he has to give and more, and more, and always more.

 

* * *

 

Al can’t bear to see Ed in pain, not now, not when he was younger. His sayf, his sword, curled around his stumps like he can protect them from prying eyes. His gold eyes are ringed with black, and Al can’t sleep but Ed can’t either, even if he has the body to do so.

Ed’s rehabilitation is hard on them both. Al offers an armour arm to support him but Ed waves him away, pushing himself forwards on his automail limbs. He fumbles with the utensils, off-balance on the ground, and he can’t lift his arm much.

He just about collapses one day, on his way to his bed. Al is by him in an instant, leather hands hovering over his flesh and metal shoulders.

“You shouldn’t push yourself so hard, Ed,” Al admonishes him gently as Edward pushes himself back onto his mismatched feet.

“I have to get your body back,” is all his sword says in reply. It’s become a mantra to him, Al thinks to himself as Ed clambers gracelessly into his bed. They sit in silence, and Al can almost hear the self-loathing that Edward is exuding.

“It's not your fault, sayf, you know that, right?” Al asks gently. Edward makes a wounded noise and curls into a tight little ball.

“It should have been me,” he says softly, like it's a secret. “It's all my fault.”

Al’s heart breaks and he can't find the words to tell Ed _you're wrong_ so he scoops him up along with the quilt and cradles him in his metal arms until Edward falls into a restless sleep.

 

* * *

 

 

Pinako can tell that Edward feels guilty, and his pain-delirious muttering just prove her right. Ed is unconscious on the cot as he rests from the painful surgery, and Al towers over him.

“He thinks that it's his fault I'm like this,” Alphonse says, voice echoing in his hollow body. His leather fingers stroke at Ed's sallow cheek, brushing his sweat-damp hair away from his forehead. Despite being in a giant, spiky, metal suit of armor, Pinako thinks, Al is always Al, gentle and protective in every way possible. The armor is meant for him, somehow.

“Survivor's guilt, I'd say,” she replies. Al’s helmet head turns to her, and he may be metal and leather but his eyes are still red. “He made it out, and you didn't. I'll bet you he wishes he was the one taken by the truth.”

Al's helmet dips in sorrow. “I would never blame him,” he says quietly. “He's doing so much for me.”

Pinako rests her hand on his elbow, steel cold under her palm. “Does he know that it's enough?”

 

* * *

 

For the first couple of years, Edward had disregarded his automail, had just shouldered through the pain of having two metal limbs with no care at all as he searched for a way to get Al's body back. Between researching the Philosopher's Stone and helping Al adapt to life without touch, smell and taste, he honestly forgot about his own maintenance.

Al prods leather fingers into his shoulder port and he hisses, recoiling like a cat from water.

"The skin around your ports is swelling, sayf," he notes, a hint of reprimand in his voice. Edward turns a page in his father's old notebook and waves him off.

"I'll get Winry to take a look later, m'kay?" he mumbles, and Al hums his assent.

A week later, he still hadn't gone. Alphonse notices as Edward gets ready for bed.

"Sayf," he says, and gently grabs Ed's automail arm. It  _burns,_ skin tugging at the bolts that connect flesh to metal, and Edward cries out. Alphonse drops his arm like he'd been burned. 

"Are you okay?!" Ed grits his teeth and nods, sinking down to the ground. His flesh is hot to the touch, and he sits against the wall, straightening his leg as much as possible. It's not as bad as his arm, but it's still sore.

A knock on the door draws their attention. "Guys?" Winry calls gently. "I heard a yell, are you okay?"

"No," Alphonse replies before Ed can open his mouth. The door opens, and Winry's eyes widen at the sight of the two brothers.

"Ed?" She asks, hurrying over. He mutters something in reply, but she doesn't seem to understand. Her hand touched his shoulder, and it's a cool relief compared to his burning skin.

"You idiot!" She pulls his ear, inspecting the port. "Swelling, bleeding, fever-"  _Bleeding?_ Ed hadn't even noticed the blood seeping from under her fingers. He rolls his head against the wall, and moans deliriously. "Al, can you-"

"Yeah," he says, and apologizes to Ed as he picks him up. Ed barely notices the jostling, and he's unconscious before they're even out of the room.

He blinks back awake in that familiar cot, blurry eyes refusing to focus on Pinako and Winry hovering over him.

"Stupid kid," Pinako scolds, "you've got an infection in your shoulder port." Winry's face appears in his field of vision.

"I'd kick your butt if you weren't sick," she sniffles. "You should have told us!"

Ed slurs out an apology, and though he's fever-struck and incoherent, she offers him a watery smile before he passes out again.

He's back out of the cot a week and a half later, this time with automail care and maintenance instructions beat into his head. Al still watches him in the morning, helps his grease up the joints in his arm that he can't reach, and Winry needles him with questions at dinnertime, but Ed doesn't get another infection in his shoulder port for years.

 

* * *

 

Alphonse shakes Edward awake. Outside of the train, the sky has lightened, signaling a new day, and against the steadily increasing light, a tall, imposing spire rises from the city.

“We’re almost to Liore,” Alphonse says, a bit redundantly. Edward stretches, the scarred skin around his automail ports tugging unpleasantly. He winces at his morning breath, but keeps his eyes on the horizon-

_This could be it!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the next chapter will be a little slower coming out, due to exams! originally, I actually skipped the entire Liore arc, like an idiot, so I have to go back and write that now. this chapter is 1589 words long. leave a comment!


	11. empty words and churches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liore isn't as peaceful as it seems, and at the heart of it all lies the Philosopher's Stone, in the hands of Father Cornello.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you guys like this chapter, it took me forever to write! yikes!

Asilah sets Al down gently next to Edward and fusses with his sash a little, tucking the ends back under the rest of it, looped around his shoulders. They're headed to the temple just down the street, though Hohenheim lingers.

“Are you sure I'm allowed to wear this, Asilah?” he asks, motioning to his sash. He'd always favoured Amestrian-style suits and pants, but now he sports a beige-coloured robe and the striped sash, though it's simply draped over his shoulder instead of tied. Ed's mother chuckles.

“We've been over this before, Hohenheim,” she says fondly, and gestures for the sash. She slings it around his waist and deftly knots it at his left hip, before tugging it and kissing him gently. Edward laughs at the expression on his father's face. “Are we all ready?” Edward grabs Al’s hand and pushes at the door.

“Uh-huh, let's go, let's go!” he cheers. Asilah chuckles and opens the door for them, loops her arm through Hohenheim’s. The sun glares off of the pale yellow sand, though the long shadows lessen the heat. It’s a Friday, and other Ishvalans are headed down to the temple. Edward catches sight of one of his friends and disappears with Alphonse in tow, though Alisah isn't too worried- everyone out here will probably end up by the temple, anyways. They're lucky, definitely- the Ishvalan Civil War started a year ago but it was a region over, and it hasn't yet reached Zahra. Some of their warriors have already left for the front lines, but here, underneath the setting sun, surrounded by her people, she can't help but feel like it'll be alright.

* * *

 

Liore is a lively place, though Edward can't fully appreciate it. He eyes the radio perched on the roof of the stall above Al and sips his water discontentedly, watching the people mill around him. The radio is spouting some sermon about Letoism, and Edward tunes it out. The man on the other side of the counter is looking at them curiously.

“Are you two street performers?” he wonders mildly. Edward coughs up his drink, spilling it all over his shirt. It’s black, anyways, it won’t stain.

“What makes you say that?” he asks, irritated. Al places a pacifying hand on his elbow. The stall keeper chuckles, much to his mounting aggravation.

“Am I wrong?” he ribs, and Edward rolls his eyes, pushing away from the counter. They’d refused his money, but he eyes the near-empty tip jar as he waves a haughty goodbye, already reaching for some of his pocket change. Alphonse, eager to follow, stands up too quickly and hits his helmet on the roof of the stall, knocking the radio from its place. It crashes to the ground and Edward winces- it may have been annoying, but it wasn’t their property. The shopkeep shouts in alarm.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” Alphonse apologizes, flustered. For a boy living inside of a seven-foot suit of armour, he was still timid as ever. “Ah, I, I’ll fix that right away, sir.” The shopkeep doesn’t look too angry, thankfully- just even more curious now.

“How are you going to go about that, kid?” he asks, then scratches his neck. “Or, er, how old are you?”

Edward tugs at a leather glove to capture Al’s attention before the little gathering of citizens around them realize something is amiss with his little brother’s armour. “Hey, Al, check it out- it’s all rusted and stuff on the inside. See?” Al is already gathering the stray bolts and bits, determined to set things right. “You sure you want to do it? You’ll have to-”

“Rearrange the array, I know,” he sighs, though it’s just a sound and not an exhalation. “I’m going to use some of my armour to replace whatever is rusted away, is that alright?” Ed considers it, trying to see where they could take some metal off without upsetting the symmetry of his armour.

“If you make the spike on your helmet a little smaller, you should have enough,” he finally allows. Alphonse moves, as if he’s about to just take off a chunk with his gloves alone, but Edward holds up a hand. “Al, what have we said about doing transmutations around your face by yourself?” Edward can almost _feel_ the eyeroll.

“Not to,” Al replies obediently, and bends over so the spike is level with Ed’s hands. He claps and transmutes a piece off, before turning Al back around to the crowd, now with a smaller spike and a little chunk of steel. It joins the rest of the scraps on the ground, and their audience whispers among themselves, trying to guess where the metal piece had come from. “Huh, did they not see the transmutation?” Edward leans his body to the right, craning his neck to be able to barely see around his brother. “Guess not,” he shrugs. “Are you going to transmute that radio or not?”

Alphonse does, indeed, transmute the radio back together, and he puts on a show. People are a little dumbfounded, and Alphonse is- well, he’s preening, is what it is.

“You’ve been touched by the sun god, Leto!” the stall owner exclaims, and Al’s entire armour body seems to slump in a way that's far too noticeable. Edward cuts in.

“Never heard of alchemy, old man?” he asks, nose in the air. The man looks confused- _ha! Got him there._ “We’re alchemists! You must’ve heard of us at some point!” The confusion eventually slips away to understanding, and before long people are clustered around the famed “Fullmetal Alchemist”-

Except it’s not Ed.

“You’ve got the wrong person, guys!” Only Al could make fame sound like an arrest. There’s a sudden quiet as every person in the area turns to look at Edward.

“Wait… it’s _that_ little guy?”

Edward can feel his left eye twitching. Alphonse is laughing, metal shoulders shaking. It’s not so bad.

* * *

 

When the crowd disperses, along with Alphonse’s laughter, Edward turns to the shopkeep, who has yet to offer his name. “So who was that guy on the radio?”

“Oh, that's Father Cornello, our leader!” Alphonse nudges Edward redundantly, excited. Another man pipes up.

“He came into town a couple of years ago, talking about his god and how if we follow him, he’ll deliver our souls and save us from eternal damnation. He can perform miracles, even resurrect the dead- proof that he's been touched by Leto.” He pauses. “If you’re interested, he's doing a sermon later this afternoon.”

Edward frowns. “Bring back the dead, you say?” The man nods.

“If you want to see him, you can stop by the church after his sermon. He’s usually available.” Ed opens his mouth, ready to refuse- seriously, does he look like he _wants_ to do that?- but Al cuts him off before he can let loose an admittedly disrespectful refusal.

“That’d be nice, I think. Where’s he preaching?”

He doesn’t even pretend to be bothered when Edward elbows him in the side.

* * *

 

Edward ends up sitting on Al’s shoulders, peering over the massive crowd at the unimpressive-looking preacher. There are sweet-smelling blooms drifting from the sky, delicate petals carried by the breeze, and they remind Edward of the Flower Festival. Alphonse prods his thigh.

“Are you even watching, Edward?” he asks, as Ed wriggles in discomfort. The cold metal is unyielding, and the shoulder spikes lessen the already limited sitting space. It’s unpleasant, Ed decides, and when he gets Al’s body back he’s going to make him sit on this armour.

“I don’t know why I have to, you can see just fine!” he grumbles. Al’s gloves tighten on his calves, though he can only feel the pressure on one. Before he can say anything, though, there’s the crackle of a transmutation from the podium, and it’s _red_ , and the entire crowd is raising their voices to a painful degree. Edward winces and hunches his shoulders, covering his ears. Alphonse waits patiently until he can uncover them again.

“Did you see that?” he asks quietly. “He transmuted a flower petal into crystals, and completely ignored equivalent exchange. Do you think that he has the Stone?”

Edward nods. “Let’s pay a visit to ‘Father Cornello’, shall we?”

* * *

 

The cathedral is impressively large, cold, and _empty._ With how many people had congregated outside, Edward is surprised that there is a lone figure at the altar. Above them, light haloes an imposing stone statue, gaze icy and unwavering. The brothers approach the altar.

“So, that’s the sun god Leto, huh?” The woman who had been praying jerks upright and stands quickly, dusting herself off.

“Oh, hello,” she greets them. “Are you interested in Letoism?” Edward’s eyes dart away from her quickly.

“No,” he says shortly, before falling on the familiar excuse, “I’m an alchemist- I don’t believe in a god.” She looks a little surprised.

“No? You must lead a very desolate life, then. Because I have my god, I can live full of hope and love.” She smiles brilliantly at him, and he’s struck by how beautiful she is- plainly dressed, brown skinned and wide-eyed, alone in a cathedral, beautiful. “If you convert to Letoism, I’m sure you’ll grow taller!”

… Never mind.

He huffs and sits back. “Do you seriously believe what people say? That you can bring back the dead?” Her eyes turn to the floor but she nods.

“Yes, of course,” she declares. Edward’s heart hurts for the conviction in her voice. He reaches into his pocket, pulling out his well-worn notebook. She watches him curiously, and her confusion grows as he begins reading from the booklet.

“Water, 35 liters. Carbon, 20 kilograms. Ammonia, 4 liters. 1.5 kilograms of lime, phosphorus, salt, a few others.” He closes the book with finality. “Did you know that those are the components of an adult human body?”

She blinks at him. “... There are 4 liters of ammonia in me?” She asks. He rolls his eyes.

“We know that these are the ingredients for a human body because of today’s science, but there have never been reports of a successful human transmutation. Do you think that praying could bring someone back, when even science couldn’t?” He looks at her, tries to tell her with his eyes alone- _prayers, science, god, it didn’t bring our “someone” back._

“If you pray and believe, Leto will answer your prayers,” she says fiercely. He stretches with fake nonchalance, looks at the high, arching ceiling with burning eyes.

“And did you know you can buy all those ingredients with a kid’s allowance?” he ignores her statement. “Humans can be made so cheaply, huh?”

“Humans aren’t things,” she argues. “You’ll be damned for saying something like that!”

“My eternal damnation aside,” he waves her off because he _knows,_ okay, he’s been sinning for a while, “alchemists are scientists. They don’t believe in gods, in divine creators. In a way, they’re the closest to god a human can get.” She’s quiet for a moment.

“You said _they_ ,” she finally speaks, and his heart lurches. “Are you not an alchemist?”

“I am,” he quickly corrects himself. “I meant _we_. Do you really have nothing to say of us alchemists, other than my bad grammar?” She sighs, apparently uncaring about his slip-up.

“The closest to God?” she asks. “You mean you think that you’re on the same level as him?” Edward nods at the looming statue.

“Do you know about the religion that most of the country Creta follows?” he asks. “They have 12 major gods, and then some minor ones. Their sun god is named Apollo, and do you know who his mother was?” She shakes her head slowly. “Leto.”

“They have a myth,” he continues, “of a boy who thought himself safe enough to fly by the sun. For his arrogance, his wings were plucked from him and he fell to the sea. Of course, some people think that the sun wanted him for itself and had him immortalized by its side, but who’s to say?”

“Brother,” Alphonse says softly, because hey, Ed could go on all day about Cretan religion, and Edward hops up from the bench.

“Say, miss, will your Leto save even someone like me?” he asks. “Even though I think like that?”

The somber mood apparently forgotten, she claps her hands together. “Of course! Let’s go to see Father Cornello.”

* * *

 

The hallways get darker and darker, and Edward presses closer to Al’s side as the lamps somehow seem to dim with every step.

 _I feel like I’m being led to the slaughter,_ he thinks, and then shakes his head to dispel the thought.

“Father Cornello is usually too busy for visitors,” the man leading them says- a priest. They’re flanked by guards, and the door they go through is heavy, iron-wrought and _solid._ There are more guards on the other side, armed with spears. Edward rolls his eyes at the man’s back and watches the guards carefully as they close the doors.

“I’ll try to make it quick,” he says, and the priest murmurs something in response before whirling around. He’s got a gun aimed at Alphonse’s helmet before anyone can move, and the guards cross their spears over Ed’s chest in the next second.

“What’s going-”

“Rose,” the priest interrupts her, voice silky. “These people are heathens, here to hurt Father Cornello. They’re evil, and we’re going to dispose of them.”

“What? No, they-” Edward cuts her off.

“Yes, I’ll try to make it quick,” and then he’s in motion, elbowing one guard and flipping the other over his head. They crash to the ground as Al’s fist makes solid contact with their guide's mouth, the gun clattering to the ground. The guard he’d elbowed scrambles to his feet, intent on running, and Edward tosses the spear at him, sending him sprawling.

“Strike!” he smirks, and a new voice has them all turning to the platform above them.

“What’s with all this racket?” Father Cornello asks, emerging from the darkness like… like a creepy pastor. “Welcome to our church, _Fullmetal Alchemist._ ”

“Father Cornello!” Rose exclaims, eyes already clearing of confusion. Edward watches her entire body relax in the presence of the preacher.

 _Oh, crap,_ he thinks, _he’s got her wrapped around his little finger._

“Looks like some of us got a little hotheaded,” he comments mildly. “My apologies for their rudeness.”

“Doesn’t feel so apologetic when you’re up so high, looking down at us,” Edward points out. Cornello merely smiles.

“Are you here to learn about Leto?” he asks. Edward watches the torchlight flicker over his face, casting sinister shadows on his cheeks.

“I’m here to learn lots of things- like how you tricked an entire city into following you with some cheap alchemy tricks, and _why._ ” Rose looks at him, confusion once again settling over her. To Cornello’s credit, he doesn’t seem fazed.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, child,” he smiles passively. “I can’t have you saying your alchemy and my miracles are on the same level.” He claps his hands together, and from between them, a little statue of Leto emerges in a flare of red light. “See? Can alchemy do this?”

“No, and that's what I'm worried about,” Edward scowls at the ground. “How can you transmute while ignoring the laws of alchemy?”

“Well, boy, it's not alchemy,” the pastor snarls, voice echoing around the room. Edward ignores him.

“Well, we got to thinking. What if he _is_ doing alchemy, but using a legendary object to help amplify the power of his transmutations to build a mindless group of followers? And that's when it clicked. The Philosopher's Stone- you have it, don't you?” Al's glove touches his shoulder lightly.

“That ring,” Al calls up to the old man, and Edward squints. Sure enough, the yellow light gleams off of a red stone, set into a golden band. “That’s what we’ve been looking for, isn’t it?”

“This is just a ring,” Cornello says, but Edward watches his fingers clench around the statue. “My God is the one who permits me to perform miracles, not such an earthly thing.”  
  
“Still preaching, huh?” Edward stalks forwards, eyes on Cornello. “If you won’t tell the truth, I’m going to have to come up there and beat it out of you!”

 _And if I’m about to beat the crap out of an innocent old man,_ Edward sends a quick prayer skyward, _please forgive me, Mother, Ishvala!_

“You’re incorrigible, aren’t you? Rose!” Rose startles, as if she hadn’t expected to be included in this little drama.

“Ah, yes, Father?” He gestures to the ground.

“Pick up the gun, dear,” and Edward whirls around in alarm. She picks up the gun, eyes wide and trusting. “Now, point it at the Fullmetal Alchemist. I want you to shoot him to death.”

“Wait, what the-” Al and Ed start towards her, an aborted move to stop her, but she steps back herself.

“I- what? I can’t, Father, I can’t do it!” Her hands tremble around the gun. Cornello’s smile spreads across his face.

“I am the voice of your God, Leto. My word is the word of the Sun God, and my word is law! I told you to shoot him, and you will obey.”

As if against her will, her hands raise the gun, but she hesitates, entire body tense. The pastor grows impatient.

“Why the wait, Rose? When you lost your beloved in that accident, who was it that saved you from that despair? Who was it, child? Would you disappoint him?”

Her shoulders shake, and Edward watches in alarm as a tear runs down her face. Her voice breaks when she answers.

“It… it was you, Father.” He raises his voice in response.

“That’s right! I was the one who raised you from the darkness, and brought you into the Sun’s light! And what was it that I promised you?”  
  
“You said that if I believed, you would bring them back!” she shouts, desperate. She turns with new conviction and aims.

Al waves frantically. “Wait, hey, I’m not the Fullmetal Alchemist!” Edward yells in frustration.

“It’s me! How many times can people get it wrong?!” Even Cornello looks alarmed. Seriously?

Rose re-aims, hands steady. “I’m sorry,” she says, eyes wide, “I have to do this. I loved them, do you understand? I have to!”

Edward doesn’t actually feel too concerned about the gun. “He’s lying to you, can’t you tell?”

“He’s not!” she cries. “I know Father Cornello, I’ve seen his miracles- he will bring them back!” Edward looks her right in the eye, and stands straight.

“Then shoot me, Rose,” he says. Clearly taken aback, she staggers. A sob tears itself from her throat, and the sound of it is drowned out by the bang of the gun.

Al’s helmet goes flying.

His armour and helmet crash to the ground as Rose stumbles, thrown back by the recoil. The gun clatters back to the stone floor as her grip loosens on the weapon, and she screams, a high, near painful noise.

Cornello just smiles. “Good girl, your god Leto is pleased with you. Now pick that gun up again and shoot the other one.”

Al’s voice is plaintive as his armour rises. “Haven’t you made her do enough already? Killing someone isn’t something you can ever come back from.” Cornello finally cracks, shocked, and Rose chokes back another cry.

“But I, you-!” Al stands with no effort. “I thought that I’d killed you!”

Ed bends down to scoop up Al’s helmet. “Don’t worry too much about it, Al is pretty solid.” He raps his gloved hand on Al’s chest just to prove it. Al leans over.

“Yep, no harm done here, Rose!” She covers her mouth, maybe in fear, or disgust. Cornello has apparently recovered enough to continue his spiel.

“An armour suit that speaks and walks among men? This is just more proof that these people are evil! I will purge them from this world, with _this_!” He backs up, reaching for something out of view. Mechanical clanking fills the room, and from behind the brothers, heavy thuds and a low snarl accompany Cornello’s weapon. “I think my Chimera will do the trick.”

The Chimera is a four-legged amalgamation of animals, though Ed doesn’t actually feel too concerned about it, either. _What is it with this guy and stealing terms from Creta religion?_

“So this is what you use the Philosopher’s Stone for, huh?” he asks instead. “That’s disgusting.” Al nudges his back, and he starts forwards. “I guess I’ll be needing a weapon.”

He doesn’t need to be so showy with his transmutation, obviously, but the look on Cornello’s wrinkled face fills him with satisfaction. The polearm is a familiar weight in his hands, and he smirks up at the man.

“No transmutation circle, huh? The state alchemist title truly suits you.” Cornello gestures at the Chimera, and Ed swings wide, parrying the blow that follows. The Chimera’s claws glint in the low light, flashing as it strikes, cleaving his polearm into little pieces. It scratches through his pants, scraping against the automail beneath it.

“Your little tricks are no use against my Chimera’s claws, which can cut even through iron!” Cornello crows. Ed scowls down at the new tears.

“You ripped my pants!” he complains, and the tips of the Chimera’s claws clatter to the ground. He darts forwards and kicks it right under its lion’s head, sending it flying. “But lucky for you, my leg is specially made. How do those claws fare against steel?”

Cornello’s eyes widen, and panic finally makes its way into his voice. “Bite him to death!” he orders, and the Chimera streaks forwards. Ed already has his arm raised against the strike, and its jaws close around it with a metallic _clang_.

“I hope you like the taste, kitty-cat,” he snarls, before ripping his arm away and kicking it again. It crashes to the ground with a pitiful sound, almost human-sounding. Edward fights back a wave of nausea.

“Your arm!” Cornello gasps. “A brother of armour… I see. I know what you’ve done!”

Edward grits his teeth and pulls off his ruined jacket, dropping it to the ground. Above them, Cornello’s voice rings accusingly around the room.

“You tried to commit alchemy’s greatest taboo- human transmutation!”

Edward raises a hand towards him, teeth gritted.

“Come down here, faker! I’ll show you how a real alchemist does things!"

* * *

 

 

Instead of responding to him, Cornello turns to Rose.

“Rose, these people are sinners. See how they have suffered, the price they have paid! They attempted the greatest taboo of alchemy- bringing a dead person back to life!”

Ed can practically see the gears turning in her mind- she seems frozen, breath caught in her throat.

“Oh, my god,” she whispers, and Ed turns his hand about, pretending to inspect it.

“This is what happens when you try to play god,” he murmurs. “Though even my God would not be so unkind. Take a good look, Rose- are you ready to become like me?”

“So this is how you became the acclaimed Fullmetal Alchemist!” Cornello laughs. “And yet, you’re barely half a man- barely half a _boy!”_

“Shut up!” Ed yells up at him. “You’re just a phony, using the Philosopher’s Stone to fool innocent people!”

“Father, we just want the Stone. Please give it to us before you get hurt,” Al says gently, ever the diplomat. Ed just wants to beat the crap out of the pastor.

“I would never give this to you! You sinners would just use it for evil!” He raises his cane, and Ed staggers back as the red flare of a transmutation lights up the chamber. He watches as it becomes a _gun,_ heavy-made and much more intimidating in the pastor’s hands than any gun would be in Rose’s. “I will personally send you into Leto’s waiting arms!”

Bullets rain down, sending a cloud of dust into the air. Edward claps and transmutes a wall in front of him, Al, and Rose- oh, crap, _Rose._ They need to get her out of here.

“I’m pretty sure that he’d just send me back, he hates me so much,” Ed says, heart pounding. He nods to Al, who scoops up Rose in one smooth move. A second later, bullets go ricocheting off of his armour back, and Ed shouts for him as he transmutes a huge, ornate door from the wall. They burst into a well-lit hallway, but don’t have the time to adjust to the sudden light- Cornello follows them through the door as they sprint away. Ed can hear him barking orders as they barrel towards the end of the hallway.

Ed doesn’t falter at the sight of the men standing at the end of the hallway, all of them smirking at the sight of his lack of weapons- instead, he puts on a burst of speed, grin going wicked as he transmutes his arm into a sinister-looking blade.

They scatter.

* * *

 

Ed sees Cornello’s office in passing, sees the microphone set up right in front of the desk. They only have a couple minutes, but Ed’s brain is already working. He ducks into the room and looks at Al.

“The bell, at the top of the tower,” is all he has to say before Al nods and sets off, Rose still curled in his arms.

Ed quickly dismantles the setup, and then searches for somewhere to hide the microphone. There’s nothing, and footsteps are rapidly approaching. He sets the microphone down on the carpet in the doorway and hops back on the desk, sending a quick prayer to Ishvala.

What a sad bit of irony.

 _Showtime,_ Ed thinks, as Cornello nearly passes him.

“There you are, you little brat!” he pants, sweat glistening at his temples. He doesn’t notice the microphone at his feet.

 _Al better get that bell all transmuted soon,_ Ed thinks. Outwardly, he smirks.

“Look, old man, let’s stop the crap, alright? I just want some clear answers about the Philosopher’s Stone,” Ed tips his jaw up. “Just tell me the truth and I’ll show myself out, or else I’ll have the rest of the military crawling all up and down your church.”

The man grits his teeth, fingers clenching around the cane again. Ed watches him warily, cheeks hurting around his cocky smile. The man looks around furtively, and shuts the door. Ed’s grin widens into a more genuine one as Cornello fails to check below himself.

“You could do anything you want with that Stone, right? So why all these dumb little tricks?”

Cornello smirks. “Because with every passing day, I gather more and more believers, believers who would lay down their lives for me. I’ll make them into an army, and they will obey me! An unstoppable legion of warriors who no longer fear death!” The look in his eye is wild. Ed leans on his fist with a careless brow raised.

“In just a couple more years, I can release them onto all of Amestris! I will tear it apart from the inside!” he exclaims. “And I’ll use the Philosopher’s Stone to help me. If I’m feeling generous, boy, maybe I’ll even give you a little piece of your own!” He laughs, and Ed watches birds rise from the rooftops at the sudden increase of volume. Chuckles rise in his throat, and his laughter startles Cornello into silence.

“This is why you’re beneath me,” he says, and raises his hand. He’s got the switch for the microphone, and Cornello’s eyes grow wide with panic. Finally, he checks at his feet, and Ed’s laughter just grows louder.

* * *

 

Out on the rooftops, Al watches the city. Rose is horrified and silent behind him.

“There were no miracles, Rose,” he says gently. “It was only the Philosopher’s Stone.” The streets below are silent, for once, everyone halted in their tracks.

“How- when did you turn that on?!” Cornello demands. Ed’s laugh dies down.

“Right at the beginning,” he snickers. “Your followers heard every word.”

“How could you?! You’ll pay for this!” Al starts, setting down the bell. He’d worried about it getting violent, and Ed was there without his protection. He can hear the sounds of a fight, and if he’d had a heart in him, it’d clench in fear.

* * *

 

 

The thud of the gun’s barrel is muffled against the carpet, and Ed readies to strike again. Cornello presses his hand to the little stub of gun left, but this time, the transmutation goes wrong- when the light dies down, Cornello’s arm is twisted into a half-mechanical mess of black, the remains of the weapon entwined with his pale flesh.

“A rebound,” Ed chokes, and Cornello, desperate and _stupid,_  clenches his fist and tries to transmute it again. Ed can only watch in horror as alchemy lights the man up from the inside, and then _expands._

“I won’t lose!” the man roars, and Ed’s heart hurts for him, because he’s already lost. “I am a prophet of Leto!”

The form that attacks this time is _giant_ , bigger than Major Armstrong. His arm is a dark mockery of Ed’s, an arm made of desperation and anger rather than love.

Ed resolves to visit Winry, as he skids to a stop in the empty cathedral. Cornello’s huge fist crumbles the rock where Ed was standing just a moment before.

“My word is the word of Leto,” Cornello growls. “My fist is his!”

“Really?” Ed asks as he scrambles away, stopping at a giant pedestal. “The fist of Leto, right? If you really want it, you can have it!” Light streaks up the statue of Leto, poised with his head up and proud. The hand rises, and streaks forwards, crushing Cornello into the ground. Ed takes a moment to calm his racing heart as the dust settles, and then vaults over a massive wrist. He grabs the old man’s face and slams their foreheads together.

“I’m done with you! Give me the Stone!” Ed shouts. The Stone glints on Cornello’s finger, before coming away from the ring. It falls to the ground, and-

It shatters, blowing away in a fine, red dust.

“What?” Ed gasps, heart sinking. “It- it broke? It’s supposed to be the perfect material! How could it possibly, how could it just break like that?” He turns berwildered eyes on Cornello, who flinches back in fear. Without the Stone, the old man is just that- an old man, weakened from the fight.

“I don’t know!” he rasps, terrified. “Please, spare me! I don’t know anything about this!” Ed ignores him, standing up. Cornello’s voice becomes background noise as he allows himself to despair, feeling like he might just blow away, too.

“It’s a fake…” he groans. Cornello perks up, hearing the fight leave him.

“So… you’ll spare me?” he asks. Ed turns on him.

“I don’t care about you anymore! Go to hell, whatever! Get out of here!”

Cornello makes himself scarce.

* * *

 

He meets up with Al in front of the church, sun setting over the city.

“It was a fake,” he sighs, body aching. He rests a hand on Al’s chestplate. “Sorry, you’ll have to wait a while longer. I really thought that you’d get to sleep tonight…”

Rose’s voice cuts through their conversation. “Give me the Stone!”

They turn to her, alarmed. She stands at the top of the stairs, framed by the red and orange of the fading sunlight, hands shaking around another gun. Ed’s voice is gentle when he speaks.

“Rose, we were just saying that it was a fake,” he tells her. “It broke, all on its own.”

Her voice cracks. “Liar! You just want to keep it for yourself! So you can use it on your bodies, use it on your mother again, right?” Ed’s eyes widen.

“Shut up!” he shouts, and she sobs. “People don’t come back from the dead, ever! We already learned that lesson, Rose- don’t learn it the hard way! It’s not worth it!” He's shaking, now, he realizes. The day is taking its toll on him, on everyone here.

She collapses to her knees, all fight drained from her. She’s just a girl now- not a follower, or a hostage- just a girl, crying on the ground.

“He promised!” she sobs. “He said if I prayed, it would come true! That a miracle would happen!”

Ed takes a deep breath, and starts forwards. She raises her head, tears streaming down her face.

“He was all I had left! What am I supposed to believe in now? Tell me what to do!” she begs.

Ed walks past her, pausing at the top of the staircase.

“I can’t tell you any of that,” he says to the air above Liore. “You have to figure that out on your own. You have two perfectly fine legs- use them. Move forwards. You’re strong enough to make your own path, got it?"

Her quiet crying fades as the distance widens, and the train ride back to East City is a quiet one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have to do the 4th ep next, and school is starting soon... help!  
> leave a comment! this chapter is 5508 words long.

**Author's Note:**

> you can find my fma blog @fullmetalfuckery! :)


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